Trusting Desire
by the-fraulein
Summary: PostRENT. I would never have wanted her to feel pain like I had, but neither of us could live if she kept going on the same way. MimiRoger. Epilogue up 01.15.06. COMPLETED.
1. Starting To Learn

**Author Note: **I haven't written any fanfics in a long time time. I haven't really written much of anything in half a year. My characterization is a bit rusty and so are my writing skills. I have this entire story planned out already, one of the first times I've ever done that. I'm hoping to have it finished before I go back to school in mid January. I used to be a frequent updater way back in the day and I'd like to try to get back to that. This story is Mimi/Roger. Don't leave me reviews that say things like "Oh thank GOD no slash!" I'm a slasher. If you don't like slash, don't read it. Stop acting like it's the end of the damn world if people slash them.

I guess I'm still as bitchy as ever. I didn't mean to go off like that. Oh well. I hope you enjoy.

**Disclaimer:** **Don't own RENT. Am not affiliated with it in any way.**

* * *

**Trusting Desire  
****Chapter One –** _Starting to Learn  
Roger's POV_

She's crying again, sweating in my arms and beating against my chest. She screams in my ears and tries to shove me, clawing at my shirt and crying, crying, crying.

It's fucking scary to see sweet, strong, passionate little Mimi reduced to the shaking banshee fighting against my embrace. It doesn't end, either. We'll go a few hours, sometimes even an entire day of the girl I had grown accustomed to and moments later I'll have to pin her to our bed to keep her from slipping out of the loft.

"One hit, baby. Please, please, please."

Her voice is agony for me. I would never have wanted her to feel pain like I had, but neither of us could live if she kept going on the same way. She didn't have to beg me to agree to help her, but all I remembered from my withdrawal was the pain and the desire and the sad, empty desperation. I didn't have rehab either, and I realize now that I had never thought of my withdrawal from Mark's perspective.

All that time I was yelling and throwing things and punching him and begging him to help me, I never once thought what it might be like to watch it first hand. I never imagined what seeing someone in that much pain, let alone someone I cared about, could do to me emotionally. Every time Mimi falls against me begging me to buy her drugs I feel a dull, distant pull in my chest. When her cheeks are stained with her tears and her big brown eyes are red and sore my breath catches in my throat for a few seconds. All my smiles are forced. I can't stop my voice from cracking when I tell her she'll be all right. I can't stop my hands from shaking when I run my fingers through her damp hair.

"One… just one!" She screams at me again, sobbing. She tries to pull away from me and for a moment slips through my grip. I frantically make a grab at her wrists but miss and am forced to get up off of the bed and wrap my arms around her from behind. She struggles, her elbows in my stomach and her little feet kicking at my knees as I lift her and carry her back to the bed.

"No, Mimi…" My voice falters and I have to swallow and refocus, trying to ignore her nails in my skin.

"If you loved me, Roger. If you loved me, you'd let me." She says, her voice coming weaker now, and I can tell we're reaching a calmer spot for the day. I sigh heavily, needing the break. I hesitantly loosen my grip on her and she remains motionless in her spot on the bed. I move closer to her and rest my head against hers. She closes her eyes and relaxes completely in my arms. Words fail me completely and when I know she is asleep I slip out of the bed and out of the room, hoping Mark is around.

Mark is in the kitchen, staring into a cup of tea. He gestures to the extra he made and relieved I pour myself some even though I don't really like tea. I lean next to him and he chances a look over at me. My eyes meet his and there is an awkward moment between us. He clears his throat and swishes the tea around in his cup, looking away quickly.

"So uh, how's…"

"You can hear it, Mark." I say, cutting him off. The exhaustion and irritation in my voice surprises me as well as him. I feel my face burning and try to shrug off my anxiety.

"She's ok, you know, sometimes." I start out with. The words fall between us uselessly. Mark looks back over at me. I shrug. We both try to ignore what's really happening. Almost two months of this and neither one of us has spoken a damn word about it. I stare defiantly into my tea for a few more moments as Mark sighs and dumps the rest of his out into the sink and picks up his camera.

"I'm going out." He tells me as he passes.

"Mark." I say without thinking.

He turns, walking backwards a couple steps before stopping completely. Waiting.

"I just think that..." No. "Well, really I wanted to…" No. I sigh before trying again.

"Mark, I need to…"

"Hey." He says, cutting me off. I look up, slightly annoyed at his interruption until I see him smile and shake his head.

"I know, Roger." He tells me. And then I hear Mimi's voice calling me from our room. I nod, setting down the tea I didn't really want anyway and heading back to Mimi. I feel his hand on my shoulder and as I'm turning he wraps his arms around me. I just want to collapse against him for awhile, too drained to do much else, but I'm needed elsewhere.

"She'll be alright." Mark says, pulling away finally. "You can handle this."

I nod to him as he's leaving the loft. I realize as he leaves that even though he doesn't need to hear me thank him for helping me with my withdrawal, I still feel the need to say it. I'm sure he's known all along that I meant to tell him before. And I'm sure that I really honestly did mean to tell him… I just never got around to it. I frown then, suddenly angry with myself. As much as I'd like to think that Mimi is just a bad case and that I was much easier to handle I know it's not true. And knowing me, it was probably much worse. Not to mention that both Mimi and Mark are about half my size, which means that Mimi can't beat me up, but I could probably have done a good deal of damage to Mark. Which I know I did.

Which makes me feel terrible as I open the door to the room and Mimi is sitting upright on our bed. She only looks tired when I see her, which is quite a change from her recent behavior.

"You were gone." She whispers, her voice small, tired. I force a smile and climb into the bed beside her. Her hair is still damp with sweat as her arms slide around my neck, the length of her body pressing all the way down against mine. I hold her tightly, burying my face in her hair and listening to her shallow breathing against my skin.

"I was just talking to Mark." My words lost in her hair.

"Okay." Her voice muffled in my chest.

Her withdrawal continued for another few months, but the worst of it was over that night.

* * *

Mimi squeezes my side to wake me up. She gets impatient when I sleep too late. I groan at her and turn over, determined to ignore her for once. She flops onto my back, pressing her chin against my shoulder, her arms wrapping around my waist.

"Roger, it's almost one. I wanna go out. Get up."

"You go out. I'll find you in a few hours." I grumble into the threadbare pillow.

"Roger…"

"I'm tired."

"Maybe you shouldn't stay up so late." She says, getting off of me and pushing on my shoulders one last time.

I sigh, turning onto my back to look up at her. "Maybe you shouldn't keep me up so late."

She smiles playfully at me, her eyes gleaming in a way they haven't for a very long time. Watching them flash at me from across the room I have to give in and get out of bed. I haven't seen my girl look this alive in months. Groaning melodramatically, I push the thin blanket off of me and drag myself up.

"Get dressed." She commands, dropping onto the bed. She rolls onto her stomach and stares up at me, one finger twirling around in her hair, while her feet kick absently in the air behind her. Crossing to the other side of the room I gently swat her ass and she kicks at me in response, grinning over her shoulder. I pull on a shirt and some jeans and when she turns away I grab her around her middle and pick her up to carry her out of the room. She laughs at me, her eyes glinting madly and adjusts her position so she can get her arms around my neck and hold onto me. I set her down near the door. She stamps impatiently when I head back into the loft instead of out.

"I'll be right out." I call to her, waving her away. I knock on Mark's door and hear a muffled voice telling me to come in. I open the door and Mark looks up for half a second, smiles and returns to his work.

"I'm going out with Mimi." I tell him and he nods before looking up again.

"Going out?" He asks, pushing his glasses back up onto his nose in surprise.

I grin. "Yeah, we're going out."

He returns my grin before again continuing with his film.

"Hey, Mark?"

Again he looks up, a slight smile, open expression.

"Thanks." I tell him and then close the door behind me on the way out. I pause for a moment, realizing that it took me practically two years to tell him. But I feel significantly better.

"Roger!"

I laugh to myself at Mimi impatiently yelling and then join her at the door, barely making it down the steps with her lips all over mine.


	2. Walking Through Fire

**Author's Note: **Thank you for your positive response. I got a lot more reviews than I was expecting and I'm very appreciative. Forgot to mentionthis story switches perspectives eachchapter. More to come.Love and enjoy.

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**Trusting Desire  
Chapter Two** – _Walking Through Fire_  
_Mimi's POV_

When my eyes open the first thing I'm conscious of is his arms around my waist. The second is his breath on the back of my neck. Slowly my body begins to drag itself out of sleep. His breathing follows a slow, steady rhythm, warm on my skin. A smile pulls at my lips and I let it spread cautiously, worried any movement at all, any change of expression might wake him up, though I know it won't. The broken clock near my head says 11:42, which is about five hours fast, meaning that it's probably only 6 or 7 in the morning. Roger absolutely does not function until after ten and if he has his way, will sleep until noon. It doesn't help that we probably only fell asleep a few hours ago.

Carefully, I extract myself from his grip and he groans loudly and turns away. I bite my lip as I smile again to block the laugh that wants to escape. Roger has two ways of communicating, and honestly, they're not really that different. There's a complex series of guttural sounds that to him constitute as speech. He talks to me, of course. But when he really needs to say something he has no idea how to say it and can never say exactly what he means. Unless he's angry, then he says exactly what he's thinking and regrets it later. Which leads to an awkward attempt at an apology that usually just ends up with him saying something along the lines of "you know what I mean" or just shrugging helplessly at me or whoever else he might have been yelling at.

And really, he still warns me about him all the time. He still sees himself in the shadow of his terrible temper, but I don't really see it anymore. For months all he did was lay in bed with me, smiling a sad, painful smile that I know hurt him horribly to force for me. For months he put up with my screaming and my anger and all he did was hold me.

I sit on the edge of the bed swinging my legs casually, not quite fully ready to leave the room yet.

So this temper thing. It's been really quiet lately. He doesn't have much to get mad about. I don't give him reasons to anymore. I don't shoot up. I don't work at the Cat Scratch. I don't talk to Benny. I'm sure I bother him once in awhile, probably more than that, but somehow he's calmer and he doesn't let it get to him like it used to. I could ask him, but he'd probably just shrug at me and give me a kiss and that would be all. Roger's not a talker.

I finally stand up away from the bed and let my hair down, shaking it over my shoulders. The weather is amazing right now, I notice while I'm standing beside the small, cracked window. The sky is as clear as it gets, a soft sort of breeze floating through the leaks in the window frame. People outside look comfortable, some even look happy.

Roger grunts in his sleep and drags a blanket over his head. I turn to lean against the window, grinning back at the bed. I really want to wake him up. There's a lot I really want to do with him right now, actually. All of them require him being awake and functional. I can't even see him anymore, he's buried himself completely in threadbare sheets, face pressed into the pillow. A sigh escapes from me and I start to reach for the top I dropped on the floor last night, but stop halfway there. Roger sleeps entirely too much. I slowly climb back into the bed and curl up beside him. His hair is in his face and I push it away, leaning in closer to press my lips against his forehead. If he feels anything, I get no sign of it.

I reach under the covers and pinch his side to wake him up. He growls in his sleep and flops onto his back, ignoring me. I pinch him again, harder and he swats me away. He's completely missing the point. I move my hand lower, down his leg and then back up to the inside of his thigh. He doesn't even move.

"Roger…" I try, in my best sex kitten voice.

I get a response that sounds somewhere between a "hmmph" and a "uuuh."

"Roger, you should really get up." I tell him in his ear, moving my hand up a few more inches. When he doesn't respond I crawl on top of him, leaning down and crossing my arms over his chest so my face only a few inches from his. Finally he acknowledges that I'm in his vicinity and his hands go to rest on my legs, one on each side of him.

"Hmmpuhh?" He asks, his eyes slowly blinking open. Not fully functional, but an improvement. I kiss him desperately, my hands moving up from his chest to play within his hair. He's slow on the uptake but eventually gives in and attempts to reciprocate.

"Baby, I think you're wearing too much." I tell him, pulling away to bite at his ear.

His grip on my legs gets firmer and I know I've said the right thing. I reach down to pull at his pants and he kisses me again, his hands moving to my back to pull me closer to him.

* * *

He'll sleep until 3 now, probably, but what can you do. I won't be moving either. He's fallen asleep half on top of me, his head on my chest, arms firmly around my waist, and he's not moving. It doesn't matter to me, I love being near him. I kiss his rumpled hair and close my eyes.

There are few times when I get a sense of who he used to be. Once in a while he'll laugh at me in a certain way that suggests a bit more life than usual. Sometimes Mark can get him to act out a little more. Last night we were up late because Roger was recounting the times he used to bring Mark to the bands gigs with him. There wasn't as much cynicism in him last night, and he was more just good humour. When Mark got tired, it was Roger dragging me back into the bedroom. He kissed me a little harder than usual, undressed me a little quicker. I asked Mark once if he was really that different of a person than he was before all the shit happened to him. Mark got sort of quiet and didn't look at me.

_"Yeah… I mean, you wouldn't really know, would you? But yeah, it was like starting all over again with a new best friend."_

Sometimes I want him to be different, just because I feel like I'm missing out by meeting him too late. Sometimes he's depressed, or regretful. He misses who he was too, I think. He misses performing and being in a band, that's what Collins told me before he left to teach again.

He writes me little songs now and then, when we're alone in the loft and he's just been playing around on his guitar he'll string a few chords together and sing about my outfit or something. He'll pull me into our room at odd times of the day to hear parts of something new he's writing. That's all he really does these days unless I drag him somewhere with me. I see him quietly fooling with his guitar on the table or in the room and there's always the small, contented smile he'll only give me.

When he finally wakes up hours later, he moves off of me and pulls me right up beside him.

"Love you, beautiful." He grunts in that husky, throaty voice, roughness amplified by sleep.

* * *

Out with Maureen while Joanne is at work and Mark and Roger sit around the loft we go "shopping".

"I would buy that one." Says Maureen, pointing at a short red dress with a low neckline.

"I want that one." I tell her, leaning against the glass to get closer to the floor length pink formal gown.

"That's so… princessy."

"Yours is slutty." I retort and she laughs at me.

"I want that bag." Maureen says. Hers is black leather with a silver handle.

"Mine." I point at the gold sequined clutch.

"Those shoes." Black stilettos.

"Those." Pink pumps with bows.

"None of that is you at all." Maureen stares at me in amusement.

I shrug at her. "I wore that other stuff every day. I'm bored of it."

* * *

"When?" He asks.

"Tuesday." I tell him.

"Oh." He says, moving closer.

"Roger you don't have to, I'm just saying…"

"Hmmphuh." Is his response, and before I can try to reply he's already asleep.


	3. Without A Burn

**Author's Note: **I have to apologize for the "cliffhanger". It was unintentional. I didn't realize until I was rereading the already uploaded story that I had left out a couple small details. I mean, _I_ knew what Tuesday was, but yeah… obviously no one else does. I meant to include what I thought was obvious in my head. So yes, I apologize.

Again, thank you for the reviews and your comments. I very much appreciate the warm reception back to fanfiction that I've had. And also, I've been having fun combing through our new little section over here, but if I've missed your new fic and you'd like a review or two I've got plenty of time until I go back to school. Let me know where the good stuff is! In other words… shameless plugs in reviews are encouraged. Love, and enjoy.

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**Trusting Desire  
Chapter Three** – _Without A Burn_  
_Roger's POV_

I knock on his door, a polite precaution I've always observed for him that I've never cared about for anyone else. When he doesn't respond I knock harder.

"Mark…" I call into the damaged wood.

"What, Roger?" He groans from his bed. It's probably about eight in the morning. Even Mimi isn't awake yet. I just stayed up all night smoking and writing songs in my head. I didn't want to wake them up. But I didn't want to sleep until three today, either.

"Can I come in?" I ask and when he responds I go in, shutting the door behind me.

"What do you want?" He's sitting up in bed, rubbing a hand over his face, his hair sticking up in the back. He stifles a yawn while I reply.

"Do you have one of those things? Those cameras, you know?" He stares at me and I gesture with my hands, trying to show him what I mean.

"Those _things_. With the pictures that come out right after you take them?"

"A Polaroid?" His voice is weary and annoyed. "Yeah, over there."

"Is there uh, film or whatever in it?"

He nods and lies back down. "Yeah, should be full." He sighs sleepily.

"Can I borrow it?"

He opens his eyes again, blinking wearily. "You better not break it, Roger."

"Promise." I grin to him, reaching down to mess his hair as I leave the room. He swats at me furiously and turns over to go back to sleep.

I set the camera down on the floor next to our bed and sit down on the edge next to Mimi. She's on her side, head nestled in her arm, dark hair everywhere. I reach over to move her hair away from her face and the contact disturbs her. She frowns for a moment, her eyebrows knitting together before opening her eyes and letting out a little yawn. She smiles at me.

"Is it really late or really early?" She asks, her voice coming soft and low from sleep.

"Early, I guess." I shrug.

"What are you doing up, baby?" She stretches lazily, sitting up and moving closer to snake an arm around my waist and kiss my neck. I return her embrace and rest my cheek against her hair. Her other hand is on my stomach and she squeezes lightly like always.

"Filling out, chubby?" She jokes. I squeeze her right back, kissing her forehead and pulling her with me out of the bed.

"And where are we going so early?" She asks, intrigued. Gently I push the camera out of her view with a foot and pull her toward the bathroom.

"Come on, you smell." I tell her, starting the shower.

She smiles at my jab, far from offended. I tell her she smells all the time and she calls me fat. Neither which are ever true.

"There's no way we have enough hot water for two showers." She says, her hands moving up under my shirt. I feel her nails graze against my stomach and a full smile comes out. I grab her wrists.

"You're wasting the water, get in." I push her gently into the shower and she starts to pull me after her. I wave her away long enough to get my clothes off and then follow her in. A second later and little Mimi has me up against the wall, up on her toes to bring my lips to hers, her fingers tangled in my hair. I feel her breasts again my chest and my hands find her waist to keep her right up against me.

She pulls away a few moments later, hair half damp and half drenched, remnants of the eye makeup she always forgets to take off before bed underneath her eyes.

"You're forgetting something." She says, amused, reaching her hands behind her head to help the weak fall of water to wet it.

I smile at her, moving her so I can be under the water too, dipping my head under briefly and running a hand through it.

"I didn't forget." I tell her, leaning over to kiss her again. Moving my lips to her neck I pull her closer.

"Happy Birthday, baby." I whisper against her ear. She giggles at me and drops her hair to bring my face back up to hers for more kisses.

* * *

While Mimi puts her makeup on in the bathroom I examine the camera, wishing Mark would wake up so I could ask a few final questions. When Mimi comes out before he does I shrug to myself and grin at her. She's dressed herself more modestly than usual, a purple dress with her boots, a cardigan over it. I didn't even think Mimi owned a cardigan. I also didn't think I quite knew what a cardigan was, but that's what it looked like to me.

"You should really put some clothes on." I tease her. "You'll be arrested."

She smiles gently, walking around me and hugging me from behind. "You said to look nice."

"That's not what you usually put on when I say to look nice."

Her expression becomes infinitely more playful and she starts to drag me to the door.

"Let's go, baby. Where are you taking me? What's the camera for?"

I shrug, shoving it into the pocket of my jacket. It's almost too big to fit but I manage to squeeze it in while still keeping my promise to Mark to treat it well. I grab Mimi's outstretched hand and follow her outside.

The air is cool for the first time this year, summer is beginning to come to close on the calendar. Mimi is up against me, my arm around her shoulders, hers around my waist. Her perfume floats around me on the air, intoxicating and feminine. She's talking a mile a minute, telling me about a birthday she had with Angel. Her words blend into one long strain of voice, bouncing about in my head. I'm no longer sure of what she's saying. My arm slips down and my hand is on her waist and I'm very aware of the curve there. Her hair is up today, the back of her neck exposed to the air and my eyes, soft down on her smooth skin. In front, her small neck leads down to her collarbone, always two straight, beautiful lines leading to her shoulders. They disappear under her sweater today, only half exposed in the rather small bit of skin showing from her neck to her chest.

Beneath my hand her body moves, hips swaying gently beneath her dress. I'm aware of the perfume again, the small sweet scent that I always small at the most inopportune moments for its fragrance to overcome me. I swallow and smile at her, nodding. I think somehow she knows I'm not really listening and I'm right.

"Roger. You're not even paying attention." She sighs, pursing her lips and looking up at me.

I lean over to kiss her temple and move my hand up from her waist to touch the tender skin on her neck. Rubbing it I smile down at her again.

"Just looking at you." I shrug and let it drop. She watches me for another moment then I feel her fingers squeezing my side and she giggles when I bend down to hook an arm under her knees and pick her up. Her laughter is sweet, tinkling in the air as she pushes against my chest.

"Roger, my dress!"

I adjust my hold on her so her dress is caught between my arm and her legs and she relaxes, her arms around my neck and her fingers playing with the ends of my hair.

* * *

Mimi scrambles out of my arms and over to a window of a store.

"I was here with Maureen the other day." She explains. "Look, they still have my dress." She touches the glasses absently.

"That's _the_ dress?" Long and pink, shiny things attached to the neckline and on the high waist. The same one she was talking about with Maureen when they came back to the loft after their "shopping". Of courses, I'd heard all about _the_ dress. She sighs and smiles, nodding at me. I'm suddenly overwhelmed with wanting to do more for her. I feel insignificant and stupid suddenly.

I bite my lip. "You know that I can't buy it for you but…"

She turns around so fast I almost miss the motion. "Oh Roger. I don't expect you to buy things for me." She hugs me around the middle, her head against my chest. I put an arm around her too and kiss her head.

"But I think you should try it on anyway." I tell her. Her eyes meet mine and she grins.

"I don't think they'll let us in that store, baby." She says, her hand under my shirt again, fingers dangerously close to the top of my jeans. She just loves to play so much.

"Go try on your dress, Mimi. No one will mess with my girl."

"Oh, my tough guy." She teases, poking me in the stomach.

She pulls me into the store with her and sure enough there is a neat looking woman fussing at a display that glares at us. I try to look wealthy in my shredded jeans and my beaten leather jacket and know I fail, so I try the alternative and grin at the sales lady, winking in her direction. She bumps into the mannequin behind her and drops the handful of tags she's holding. I smile to myself, watching Mimi look for her size. I guess I've still got it. Just haven't used it in awhile.

While I wait for her to come out of the dressing room, I pull out the camera and examine it again. It seems fairly cut and dry, nothing too complicated. The woman disappears into a back room at the same time Mimi throws open the door of the dressing room, her expression brighter than the flash that goes off when I take her picture.

She giggles at me when I pull her close for a tight, brief hug, before she waltzes away to twirl in front of a mirror.

"Take more pictures, Roger. It's so pretty."

I toss the finished ones on the floor to dry when I take them. Mimi takes her hair down for a moment and then puts it back up, comparing. The sales woman finally emerges again and starts over to us as I take another picture. I see her coming and as Mimi stoops to look at some shoes I head over to her.

"I'm buying a dress for my girl's birthday. Just taking pictures so we can decide which one is best later."

The woman glares at me, but I grin at her. "Hey now, don't chase us out. She's so excited, look."

She looks over at Mimi who is sure enough still twirling in the dress. She stops for a moment and looks over her shoulder to examine the back of the dress, one hand following a hip and she tilts her head and frowns. I wink at the woman one more time and head over to Mimi again, setting the camera down and moving her hand away from her hip and turning her around toward the mirror with my arms around her waist.

"Beautiful." I say into her hair, and then decide to push my luck.

"Hey," I call to the sales lady. She crosses her arms. I pick up the camera again and hold it out to her. "Take a picture of us?"

She could have easily kicked us out. She knows we aren't here to buy anything and charm or no charm, she wasn't swayed by my performance. But she stares at us for minute then sighs heavily and lifts up the camera. I quickly grab Mimi and pull her close. The flash goes off and the camera is thrust back against my chest and the woman disappears again.

Mimi changes as I pick up the pictures from the floor, most at least half developed by then. I stick the camera back in my pocket, Mark still had some film left in there and it was intact. There was no way he could kill me. I find the best few of her and when Mimi joins me again I hold them out to her. She bites her lip over a spreading grin. We sit for a few minutes so the rest can develop further and eventually I pick up the one of the two of us and allow my own grin to overtake my face.

Mimi leans over the pictures and presses her lips over mine.

"I love you." She giggles at me. I smile to myself, looking down at the pictures and then back up at her. She reaches over and pinches my stomach.

"Love you, beautiful." I tell her, and kiss her again.


	4. Clinging A Shoulder

**Author's Note: **It's been a few days, I know. Sorry. Thank you again for all the reviews, I'm glad there are people who like this. As always, enjoy.

* * *

**Trusting Desire  
Chapter Four** – _Clinging A Shoulder_  
_Mimi's POV_

The mornings blend into days and the days blend easily into the evenings. Typically, Mark will be up first, making tea for himself if we have had the money to buy some. I'll wake up when I hear him rummaging around outside of our door. I use a little of the time before Roger wakes up to just lay around on the small mattress beside him.

I smile when the first crash of Mark dropping things in the kitchen startles me from sleep. Roger's breath is hot against my ear and I take a moment to untangle myself from him. He grunts in his sleep and flops onto his back when I move away. I sit up on the mattress, gathering the blanket up around my body and lean against the wall. Roger is snoring quietly, his bare chest rising and falling in a steady tempo. I tilt my head, looking down at him, letting one hand reach out lazily, tracing my fingertip along his collarbone. His skin is warm, smooth and firm under my touch as my finger reaches his shoulder and drops off of its predetermined line.

He sighs and my eyes move back up to his face. There are lines of age just beginning to form around his eyes. For a small moment, he looks weary and almost old, and then I push away false visions and concentrate on his real features. I bite my lip against a spreading smile and reach my hand out again, running my fingers through his hair and moving closer.

Roger is very good looking, but not in a way I'm typically attracted to. I've seen the way he used to look, when he was more my type. I had vaguely remember seeing him around the building with a blonde girl when I first moved in. Back then, Roger seemed even taller. Whenever I saw him he was smoking, his arm slung around the blonde girl's shoulders, a great white grin spread across his face. He always seemed to be laughing at something. In Mark's older films there is a Roger whose presence dominates the others. He's always winking at the camera and kissing April, the girl, for show and making little jokes about Mark. There's someone who used to get along with Benny and who would start dancing or singing in the middle of the street just for fun. He's untouchably cool, but completely approachable.

I wouldn't have known, but Mark and I need something to do while we wait for Roger to wake up most days. He's shown me a lot about a person I'll never know, someone I once looked at from across the hall and wanted in an instinctive, animalistic way. Most of the old Roger is gone. Even when he's at his best, his eyes don't hold the same light they did when he was younger. The green is tainted with a darker emotional stain that no one can lift. He does his best, I think, but I still see these old films and want him to toss his arm around my shoulders and throw the camera that cocky grin that has since been replaced with a predominantly sad smile. His heart just isn't in life like it used to be, no matter who or what he has to live for now.

Roger moans and stretches slightly and I think that he might wake up, but I'm disappointed when he settles back into the same position again, tugging more of the thin blanket around him. I should have known, it's only about nine in the morning.

The blanket covers most of his body now, except for the tips of his sharp collarbones and his shoulders. The muscle on his arm is still rather generous, all things considered. He's a lot thinner than he used to be, especially lately, but there's still a good layer of muscle on him. His arms are hard, and strong in a way a woman could never be. There's a beautiful texture to his skin that's just so much _different _than mine. That's the way men are. Everything about them is all muscle and angles and hard, smooth skin. I love to pinch his stomach or his side just to feel him beneath his clothes, or take his arm when we're out together, my small hand barely covering half of the girth of his arm. I love to be close to him and feel this strange, hard body next to mine. When he laces his fingers through mine to take my hand, his fingers are long and thin, his hand dwarfing mine by a long shot. I love slipping my hands up under his shirt whenever we're out together, just to tease. He likes to leave his arm around my waist, leave his hand on the curve right above my hip. I like knowing that he loves looking at me. We were made to appreciate each other.

He moves again, landing on his side. The long brown hair, so much different than the bleached blond mess he has in the old movies, flops over his face. Reaching out, I brush it away. I want to wake him up. I frown, thinking about it. I'll only feel bad about it for a minute if I do, and it's not like he'd complain.

"Roger…" My lips up against his ear, I call his name softly.

"Meh." Is his response, typical early morning speech from Roger.

I continue to whisper to him, but he brushes me away and turns over. I scowl, but not in the mood enough to bother him anymore, I just give up. I pull on some clothes and go out to join Mark, who is standing with his tea near the table, frowning down at his camera. He smiles absently when he sees me.

"I made extra, if you want any." He says. His attention turns toward the window and his frown grows more defined.

"What's wrong?" I ask him, helping myself to some of the tea.

"It's raining." He says, and for the first time I notice the water gathering in the buckets stationed around the loft from the leaky roof and the heavy pour outside. I shiver, also noticing the lack of warmth away from the bed.

"I was going to walk down to the park, you know? Get some filming done…" He trails off, looking very put out. He shrugs.

"I was going to go anyway, but I don't want to get the camera wet."

I climb up on the table near where his camera is set and blow on the hot tea.

"Where's that umbrella you and Collins stole from that guy at the train station?"

Mark smirks. "I don't know. Maybe he stole it back. I can't find it anywhere." He shrugs again.

"Hey," he says suddenly. "You're up pretty late today."

"What time is it?" I had thought it was around nine.

"Nearly one." He smiles. "I'm up late too. We all slept in today. Did you try to wake him up yet?"

"Yeah, but I didn't have much luck. You can try if you want," I offer. "But watch out. You can't offer sex as a consolation prize when he gets pissed."

Mark grins and almost laughs. "We'll just wait again then, huh?"

"Hmm." I respond, as I'm mid-drink.

* * *

A few months later, one morning disrupts our routine. When I wake up, I discover Roger missing from the room. Frowning at the new development, I drag myself out of bed to see where he's gotten to. Pulling on a sweater, I hear him outside the room. When I open the door a moment later I see him sitting on the table, his eyes red and swollen. He gives a weak cough when he notices me and smiles feebly.

"Didn't mean to wake you." He says quietly, his voice raw and tired.

He looks physically ill, beyond just exhausted and the drastic change leaves me speechless. He seems to understand, and slides off of the table to walk over toward me.

"Hey, hey." He says into my hair, pulling me close. "I'm alright, don't worry like that. It's just a cold."

I feel my breath catch in my throat. He backs away with the same sad little smile, his hand still holding onto mine even though he's standing a couple feet away now.

"Go back to bed, Mimi." He tells me. "I don't want you to get sick too. You're not as healthy as me."

I stare at him for a long moment and then let go of his hand. He lifts himself back up on the table and rubs at his eyes. He's tired. I want to go back over and drag him back to the bedroom with me, but I know he won't let me. He gives me a hard look when he sees me still standing in the same place.

"Just go to bed." He uses his forceful voice, the one he bosses Mark around with. Although it sounds a lot more intimidating when he doesn't have a sore throat or look like a sick child. I give up and retreat, hoping Mark will either wake up soon and fight with him for me or the two of us together could make some impact on his decision. I slip back into the bedroom, wondering if avoiding a fight was a good excuse for leaving him out there. Even if I knew my pestering him wouldn't make a difference, I should have been doing something besides just letting him get his way.

Because after all, Angel had thought it was "just a cold" too.

This thought makes me doubt myself significantly and I pause just on the inside on the bedroom. No one ever wants to really acknowledge that they're sick, and suddenly I'm not okay with letting Roger have his way. I open the door again and realize he's no longer on the table, but lying on the beaten couch, one hand thrown over his eyes. When he hears me approach the arm slides to the side and he frowns.

"Mimi, look it's fine, okay?" He makes his angry face at me when I kneel next to the couch, but I ignore him.

"Roger, shut up." I make my own angry face back at him. He's about to say something else but stops and just glares.

"You don't know anything." He decides and closes his eyes again.

"You can be such a jerk." I tell him, backing off for a minute to return to our room and retrieve the blankets from the bed. I spread them over him carefully. He isn't happy with me, I can tell, but he doesn't say anything else.

Mark's door opens and Roger rolls his eyes at me.

"It's so early." Mark whines, shoving his glasses on his face. "What the hell are you two doing awake."

"Roger is an asshole." I tell him. "And he's sick."

Mark kneels beside me and Roger crosses his arms over his chest.

"I'm _fine_." He growls, the gravel usually in his voice muted considerably by fatigue.

Roger lets us take care of him, scowling and grumbling and threatening the entire time. But he recovers a few days later. Mark digs through the loft for change and rolls up our blankets to take them a few blocks to the Laundromat for us. He tosses his own beaten quilt in our room.

"I don't want either of you to get sick again. Just use my blanket until I get back."

Roger has a faint smile on his face when he's lying in our bed again, Mark's blanket wrapped tightly around us.

"What?" I reach over him and wrap an arm around his waist and pinch at his stomach.

He smirks. "I love that he lets me be as lazy as I want."

"Because you'd actually do chores if someone asked you to?"

He turns onto his back and pulls me on top of him, pressing his mouth against mine, his long fingers caught up in my curls. Instead of responding to my question his fingers slip beneath my top and pull it off over my head.

"Not sick anymore, I guess." I tease him.


	5. A Leap Begins

**Author's Note: **Thanks again for the reviews. I hope you enjoy.

* * *

**Trusting Desire  
Chapter Five** – _A Leap Begins_  
_Roger's POV_

Grinning nervously at the three other guys in front of me, I stoop to pull my guitar out of its case. My fingers pass over the picture of Mimi I taped to the cover and I bite my lip. I'm being stupid. It's been too long, I'll never be able to pull off this audition.

I plug into the amp they've set out and double check the tuning I perfected before I left the loft. I fiddle with G for a minute, feeling the sweat gathering on the back of my neck and starting to panic.

"So, uh, yeah. This is uh, uh, a song that I wrote in my ol-old band."

A wonderful time to develop a stutter, certainly.

I start to play, concentrating on keeping my fingers steady, I can feel them shaking. My voice sounds tired when I start to sing, not at all how I'd want a first impression to go. Convinced my range won't handle the end of the song too well today, I take it down a third. It sounds wrong and I see them staring at me. In tune, but just wrong. I feel their eyes boring into me when I look down at my guitar to check a fingering I should know by heart. My fingers slip more than once and then I drop my guitar pick. One of them rolls his eyes.

"Forget it man, we don't have time for this."

And then I'm packing up and leaving, hurrying away with my last shred of dignity. My eyes fall on the picture of Mimi and I frown. I really wanted her to see me play with a band again. I should have practiced more. No, actually, I should never have taken nearly a year off of playing guitar in the first place. Or maybe I'm just not as great as I always thought I was.

I shiver involuntarily. It's starting to get cold these days. I shove my free hand in my pocket. I should have known. It was stupid to try something like this. So stupid. Fucking stupid.

I really don't want to go back to the loft yet. I told Mark and Mimi about the audition in the morning and they were both so excited. And now I have to go back and say I fucked it up because I really just suck at playing guitar and have completely lost my performance confidence. I stand outside of the building for a few minutes. Maybe an hour, I lose track of time. I know I probably really shouldn't be standing outside in the cold; I did just get over being sick. Thinking about it that way, I decide to do something intelligent today and go inside. It's not much warmer, but there are blankets and other people up there. I groan under my breath when I start to climb the stairs. I really don't want to do this. I don't want to see them and tell them how I failed.

"Hey!" Mark yells when he hears the door open. I send him a silent thanks when he doesn't question me. Years of friendship, he knows when not to say a word. Mimi looks up from the couch, a delighted playful little smile forming. I try to return it and fail. She scrambles off of the couch and comes over to me. She reaches down and takes my guitar case from me and sets it down before getting up on her toes and wrapping her arms around my neck. I hug her back, burying my face in her hair and listening to her coo into my ear. Hearing her light feminine voice in my head calms my shaking nerves.

"Poor baby." She says. "We know how much you wanted that."

Mark has been watching me closely, I can tell, try to judge whether or not he should get involved. To my relief he decides it's safe and stands up to join us. I feel his hand on my shoulder and I release Mimi, keeping one arm around her, both of hers armslocked around my waist.

"What happened?" He asks me cautiously.

I shrug and toe the floor. "I fucked up."

"You just got nervous." Mark decides for me.

"No, it was more than that." I frown, fumbling for words. "I was terrible."

"It was just nerves." Mark says firmly. Mimi squeezes my side. I try to smile down at her but end up with something that looks more like a disapproving grimace. Her face falls. For the first time in a long time she's failed to cheer me up and it hurts her as much as me.

"Hey," Mark ventures carefully. "I found something for you, if you want to see it."

I just stare at him and he takes this as a 'yes' and goes off to set up his projector. Mimi drags me over to the couch and pushes me down on one side before climbing into my lap. She drapes herself over me like a little cat,pressing light kisses on the side of my face.

"You smell." I whisper to her and she grins at me.

"Fatty." She shoots back, with a poke to my stomach. I make a feeble attempt at a smile that she kisses as Mark crowds in next to us. Mimi pulls the blanket out from under him and wraps it around all three of us.

"What is this?" She asks Mark.

He smiles nervously. "It's one of Roger's performances with his old band."

I look up at the film and sure enough, Rock Star Roger grins back at me. He looks so young, it makes me feel ancient and for a moment I'm resentful of Mark for thinking I'd want to see this. I watch for a few more minutes and then recognition hits.

"Hey… is this?"

Mark grins. "Yeah. Remember how we thought that footage was lost forever? I found it. Severely mislabeled."

"As what?"

He blushes. "Don't even ask."

Mimi giggles at his expressionand I kiss her neck and wink at him. "Probably the embarrassing sexual adventures of Marky and Moo."

"Who's Moo?" Mimi asks.

"Roger." Mark warns me, frowning slightly.

"Well, back in the day…"

"When you were an asshole." Mark scowls at me.

I grin slightly, my mood slowly recovering. "Maureen tried this crazy all dairy diet. And she got kind of fat."

"She did not get fat." Mark says.

"Pudgy, then. And besides, she was the one who started going around whining that she was fat."

"And so like the asshole he was, he started calling her Moo instead of Mo."

"No one calls Maureen, 'Mo'." Mimi says.

"Well, that's kind of why…" I tell her. She pinches me.

"Roger, you're terrible."

I frown again. Terrible at being a musician. I lose myself back in my angst. Mark sees this and sighs.

"Roger, you're not a terrible musician. Look at you." He gestures to the film. "That was the night you got offered those auditions for the record companies. They wouldn't be after just anyone."

Mimi looks up at me and I smile feebly. "Yeah…"

"Did he tell you that, Mimi?" Mark asks her. "He was going to be a big rock star. All these people wanted him and his band on their label."

"No…" She says softly. "Why didn't you tell me? That's amazing." She's beaming at me, proud and obviously thrilled.

"Yeah, I guess." I mutter. "I fucked it up."

"You didn't fuck…" Mark frowns. "Okay, well you did fuck it up, I guess."

"Thanks buddy."

He nudges me. "Don't you want to get that back, Rog? You could, you know. I don't know why you're being so down on yourself."

I shrug. "I'm just going to die anyway."

"Well what are you going to do until then?" Mimi's fingers are in my hair, her voice warm against my neck.

Rock Star Roger laughs onstage and grins straight into the camera. A girl shrieks loudly and Mark and I both laugh.

"April." I explain to Mimi. She smiles gently, moving closer and holding me tighter. Claiming me as hers now, which I don't mind at all. The camera moves over to a blonde girl in a short dress for a brief moment. She opens her mouth wide and screams at the camera before Mark laughs and turns the camera back to the stage. Rock Star Roger is making me nauseous, I can't watch this cocky bastard gyrate and grin and look so fucking alive anymore. It makes me think too much of all the time I've lost and the time I'll never have. It was barely two weeks after this performance that my addiction was out of control and my band got pretentious and kicked me out. Followed by six months of living like a junkie with April and then she was dead and I was as good as gone with her. My band broke up, no one was interested in them without me and their replacement was shit.

I had really fucked up. The old scars suddenly burn on my arms and I just want to hold Mimi tighter and move closer to Mark. I don't really want to be Rock Star Roger again. I do want to live again though. I want to feel the way I felt before heroin. Before even April. My mind is suddenly back in high school and me and Mark living on pure adrenaline when we first moved to the city. I was so fucking invincible, and even if I wasn't, I was too young to care.

I watch the rest of the performance with them in silence. Mimi falls asleep on my lap, her head nestled in my shoulder, little fingers wrapped tightly around the fabric of my shirt. When the film runs out Mark moves to turn the projector off and I grab his arm without thinking. He pauses and looks back at me, questioning.

Not sure how to say what I need to I just shrug. He nods and goes to the projector. I pick Mimi up and carry her to our bed, building a nest for her out of the thin blankets and then returning to the main room of the loft. I pull myself up on the table and watch Mark gather his film and put his projector away. I smile to myself. He walks past me and starts to make himself tea.

"Caffeine? It's really late."

He shrugs. "With you two in the next room I can't sleep anyway. Does it matter?"

I slide off of the table and punch him lightly in the shoulder, leaning against the wall near him. He smiles sadly at me.

"Thanks, Mark."

He nods. We sort of stare at each other for a minute and then I lean over and wrap one arm around his shoulders and hug him. He returns it and then we break apart with a mutual grin.

"We'll try to keep it down."

He shakes his head with a wry smile."Don't let me spoil your fun."


	6. Stinging And Older

**Author's Note: **Hmmm. You'll hate me for this one. And you'll understand the boys argument better in the next chapter, which should also be the last if it goes as planned. Thank you for the reviews and for reading. Much love.

* * *

**Trusting Desire  
Chapter Six** –_Stinging And Older_  
_Mimi's POV_

The first thing I become conscious of is that I'm alone in bed. Frowning slightly, I sit up. I can't think of why Roger would be awake so early, and then I realize it's early afternoon and it's mewho has overslept.

The second thing is that I can hear Roger yelling. This also strikes me as odd, considering Roger doesn't do too much yelling anymore. I listen for a moment and then bite my lip in worry. He is angry. Very angry at Mark, it seems. Slowly, I pull myself out of bed and drag some clothes on. When I gingerly open the door of our room, sure enough Roger has Mark up against the wall, leaning in close and letting him have it.

"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about, because you don't know what it's like! You don't know anything. All you have is your stupid fucking camera and all your stupid memories and that fucking infatuation with Maureen. Just get over it! All of it! You have no fucking right to…"

Mark surprises both of us by pushing Roger away from him.

"I just want you to do something with your life! You've had all the opportunities you could have ever wanted and you fucked it all up and you're trying to blame me for it!" Roger stares at Mark, obviously not expecting his reaction.

"Well, you can't blame me for this, Roger! You can't blame me for all of your shit anymore. I didn't give you heroin, I didn't tell you to stop showing up to practice, I didn't tell you to start dating April. I didn't get you kicked out of your band and I didn't make you fuck up all those auditions. You know what I _did_ do? I tried to help you! I told you every damn day to stop killing yourself. I took care of you when you were sick. I made you go to auditions. I…"

"Maybe you should have just backed the fuck off!" Roger yells back, regaining his strength and pushing Mark back to the wall. "Maybe I didn't want your help! Maybe you should have just let me die! That's all I wanted anyway!"

"We can't eat cereal and dream our whole lives, Roger!"

Roger glares at Mark. I can see him fuming silently in a mood he hasn't been in for a very long time.

"Maybe you should just accept that neither one of us is any good at what we do. Maybe that's why we're so fucking poor, Mark."

Mark has no words, his mouth hanging open stupidly staring at Roger in silence. Roger sees me in the doorway but before I can speak to him he's grabbed his coat and left the loft. I think about following him, but at the moment Mark looks so torn apart I can't help but pity him instead. I take his hand and pull him over to the beaten couch. He collapses on it and stares at the floor.

"Where's your camera, Mark?" I ask him gently, reaching over to rub his shoulder.

He shrugs. "Over there."

"You're not filming today?"

He snorts. "What's the point?"

"You know he didn't mean that."

Mark shakes his head. "It doesn't matter if he meant it or not, it's true." He shrugs again and clams up.

"Why were you fighting?" I try a few minutes later, climbing onto the couch beside him and wrapping an arm around his shoulders, leaning in close to share body heat in the cold loft.

Mark doesn't say anything for a while, staring at one spot on the floor. He looks back over at me finally, just when I think he might be purposely ignoring me.

"He's sick." Mark mutters under his breath. "He saw a doctor, and he's sick."

I feel my heart dropping in my chest, falling flat into my belly, clattering loosely. His words are dull, empty and pained. Roger is sick?

"When did he get sick?"

"That last cold he had. He told me finally he still didn't feel all that great."

"That was over a month ago." I say and Mark nods.

"Yeah, it was a couple weeks ago he mentioned it. Then he told me he really thought something might be wrong." Mark looks angry when he talks.

"Why didn't he tell me?" I find myself pouting, jealously creeping in over their closer relationship.

"He didn't want you to worry. He saw how you acted when he got a cold."

"How sick is he?"

Mark snorts. "His T Cells are lower than they've ever been before. He's feeling weak and sick all the time and he's so thin…" he trails off, looking away.

"I don't see…"

"Fuck, Mimi. You sleep with him every night, you haven't seen how much weight he's lost?" Mark stands up, his anger seeping back in. I've never seen him lose his cool this close up before. He's shaking, his features contorting intoan emotion that seems awkward and out of place on his face.

"They told him he's just going to get worse from now on." Mark falls onto the couch again, defeated. "He's not far from developing AIDS full out now." He mumbles something else about T-Cells and higher dosages that I don't hear much of.

I bite my lip and can't think of what to say. Roger cannot possibly get sick before me. I can't watch him die. I can't be the one sitting with him and holding him that last day. I can't. He's supposed to be there for me. Who is going to be with me when I'm afraid and shaking in my deathbed?

"He's out in the cold…" I say absently, looking out the window.

Mark follows my gaze.

"I should go find him…" He muses. "…really should."

"I'll go with you." I offer immediately, standing up.

"No, no. He'll kill me if he knows I let you go out. It's freezing." Mark says, shaking his head. He disappears in his room for a minute and comes out with his blankets.

"Just take these and go to bed, ok? It's cold in here too. I'll go find him."

"Mark!"

"Mimi, just… do it, ok? Please? He'll only be more pissed off if you're out there too."

I watch him pause next to his camera, sitting innocently on the table, before heading out. He doesn't pick it up.

Suddenly I'm furious with the pair of them. Roger for not telling me that he's sick, and Mark for making me wait here like a stupid child for them to come back. Stupid Roger and his fucking pride and Mark and his complete lack of emotion, shocking the hell out of everyone when he finally feels something and fights back.

I curl up in a tight ball under the covers and wrap the blankets around myself. I can't forgive Mark for the "you sleep with him every night" jab either. _I did notice_, I tell myself, but I know it's a lie. I really hadn't. But then again, I hadn't really slept with Roger in a while anyway. He's been too tired recently. Which I thought was strange at first, Roger is never too tired for sex, but then just shrugged it off. Maybe he really was tired.

I feel like the child Mark reduced me to at that moment. I feel like I should have known without Roger telling me. I should have known what he told Mark and what Mark might already have known anyway. I shiver involuntarily and I can't tell if it's from the crack where the window just won't close or from the sudden realization that I'm not quite as in touch with Roger as I thought I was.

I toss and turn for a while before deciding I really should be out there looking for him too. Fuck Roger if he gets angry. I'm not sick right now, I can handle it.

But it's just so warm in the bed, and I know that Roger would be much happier if Mark brought him home to me warm in bed. I don't know what's more important at the moment, pissing him off to help him or making him happy. The whole problem seems ridiculous. All I know is that I want him here with me right now. I want to feel his body pressed against the length of mine, his fingers combing through my hair and I want to hear him laugh against my hair when I poke him in the stomach. I just want him right now.

I can't believe that could be taken away from me. I never imagined that he would get sick first and now I'm faced with the very real possibility that it could be him who dies first.

I can't stand it. I can't do this. I can't watch him die. I can't be the strong one for us. I can't watch Mark see his best friend die. I can't live with Mark afterwards, the two of us devoid of the person we cared about the most, living off of each other's melancholy, feeding off the quiet vapor of death that would surround us. I can't.

I pull the blanket over my head and pray for them to get back soon because even if I wanted to go, at this point I can't move from my grief.


	7. Asleep On Pins

**Author's Note: **This chapter starts in the morning of the last chapter. So pretty much, this is what is happening while Mimi is still asleep. There will be an epilogue after this chapter, since I decided to do something a little bit differently. Thank you for the reviews, and enjoy. The last chapter will be up very soon.

* * *

**Trusting Desire  
Chapter Seven** –_Asleep On Pins_  
_Roger's POV_

When Mimi falls asleep, I carefully slide out of her hold and go back into the main room of the loft. To my surprise, Mark is still awake. He smiles absently in greeting, before returning his gaze to the cup of tea before him. I pick up my guitar and drop onto the couch next to him, hearing it groan under our shared weight. I poke quietly a few strings, not really playing much of anything, just to have something to do with my hands. Mark is still staring into his tea.

"Lose your soul in there?"

"Are you okay?" He asks at the same time.

I stare at him. "I'm fine, Mark." I'm feeling anything but fine, but I don't want Mimi to worry, and I don't want him worrying either.

He shrugs. "Well, you said a few weeks ago that you weren't feeling all that great. I just wanted to know if it was better or not."

"I'm fine." I repeat and go back to my idle guitar playing. He leaves it for a few minutes before looking over at me again.

"What, Mark?" I ask, annoyed.

"I know you're not."

I roll my eyes. "Fine, I'm not fine. Ok? Is that what you want to hear? I think I'll die tomorrow."

"Don't be such an ass, Roger." He says, clearly close to be fed up with me.

"I know. You're just trying to help." I mock him. "Just leave me alone."

This whole exchange is quiet, our voices low and soft. We're not really fighting. It's typical behavior for us.

"Are you going to see a doctor?"

I clench my jaw and glare into the floor. "Yes. I'm going in the morning."

"I knew it." He whispers.

What he knows is that I never voluntarily go to the doctor and that I must be convinced it's serious if I'm going on my own. What he doesn't know is that I was only doing it to make sure I was going to be healthy for Mimi. Since I guess I sort of care about my life now.

"You don't know anything."

"Why don't you ever just tell people things, Roger?"

"I told you now, didn't I?" I shoot back.

There is an awkward silence that passes between us and he stirs his tea and drinks it and I quietly strum a C chord.

"Do you want me to go with you?" His voice is so low I barely hear it. It's an open offer and I know he won't be offended if I refuse, but I stop playing and hold the guitar still.

"Yeah." I mutter. My eyes find his and he smiles weakly, hiding his worry and I attempt to return it, but I know I only come off as disgruntled.

"Don't tell Mimi. She doesn't need to know." I look him in the eye, making him understand I'm serious. He nods.

"You should go to bed." I tell him. "I'll wake you up."

"You're really going to wake me up?" I think he believes my pride is going to triumph in the end and I'm going to go it alone.

I shake my head. "No. I want you with me. I'll wake you up."

He's about to stand up but pauses.

"What?"

"Are you scared?"

"Fuck off, Mark."

He hits me in the arm and I do my best to grin at him, despite inwardly screaming an affirmative to his question.

* * *

Mark walks beside me, and I take a slower pace than usual so he can keep up as he's been engrossed in his camera the whole way, walking more leisurely than usual. He's been filming some other stuff so far but finally turns the camera on me.

"Close on Roger as he walks to his first voluntary doctor visit."

I make a face at the camera. "It's not that monumental."

"Monumental? When did your vocabulary expand beyond 'fuck' and 'shut up'?" He teases me from behind his camera face.

"Shut up." I grin cleverly. He smirks.

He continues narrating to himself, sometimes about me, sometimes about people we pass and mostly he's just babbling. I begin to realize I don't spend much time alone with Mark anymore. If it's been long enough that I'm starting to listen to his senseless camera talk just because I miss it, it's been too long. I feel like I should do something to thank him for coming with me because I never would have asked him to if I was left to my own devices. I wait for my moment.

Mark pauses his filming a few minutes later to stare at a street sign.

"Are you sure we're going the right…"

I reach out and grab hold of his camera, pulling it away from him and turning it around. He lets out a shocked gasp of surprise and swipes at the air for it. I film his flailing and laugh at him, backing away.

"Roger, you're going to break it! Give it back, now!"

"Close up on Marky Cohen." I narrate, making my voice whiny and nasal. "The best friend a former drug addict could ever have."

He stops for a moment and smiles into the camera, taken by surprise but pleased, then reaches out again.

"Roger, give it back."

"Marky, tell the kids at home what you were doing in the shower this morning."

"Oh, fuck off." He moans, finally grabbing the camera back from me and pushing me away. "Not all of us have girlfriends."

I push him back, which starts a frantic shoving match in the middle of the sidewalk, disturbing pretty much anyone in our vicinity.

"Your film for the day is ruined." I say, laughing, holding him still, both of us out of breath.

He shrugs. "I'll edit it."

I throw an arm around his shoulders and grin at him.

"Thanks for coming with me."

He pretends to be shocked. "I should have been filming that. A 'thank you' from Roger Davis that didn't have to be wrestled out with brute force."

I pull my arm away. "Don't be a dick. I thank you sometimes."

He nods. "Yeah, usually. But usually it takes you know, a good year or so."

I push him again which leads us into another shoving match that lasts for the next few blocks.

* * *

"I don't think they're going to let me go in with you. Are you going to be okay?" He asks me.

I nod. "Yeah… yeah, I'll be fine. It's enough that you came here."

"How are you paying for this?"

I shrug one shoulder. "I sold one of my amps."

"One of them, you still have the other, right?" He looks bothered by this. I don't tell him that it's the small, shitty one that barely works.

I nod, filling out some paperwork.

"You don't have insurance." The woman behind the desk frowns at me.

"I just want to get checked out, okay lady? I've got money." I growl at her, annoyed.

"It's extra if you don't have insurance."

"I know. I have the money."

She tightens her mouth into one long line and takes the clipboard back. "Have a seat, Mr. Davis." She glares at Mark. "Can you please refrain from filming in here?"

He looks like he is about to protest, but then shrugs and lowers the camera. We sit in a corner together, waiting silently until my name is called. I give Mark one last look and follow the doctor into the back.

The visit is long and tedious. It's a lot of waiting alone in the little room on my part, a lot of unreadable nods and looks from the doctor. He never once looks optimistic or in good humour, and I have to admit that it gives my already heightened sense of worry a little extra to latch onto. It seems like hours when he finally decides to talk to me, and for all I know it might have been. His words are riddled with uncertainty and regret. He doesn't really want to talk to me, I know. My T Cells are too low, lower than ever. He's spotted lesions I didn't know I had. The next cold or virus I catch could very well be my last. I'm not healthy at all and he knows it. I stop listening after awhile, hearing him now talking about my medication and what I should be doing and taking. I'm going to get AIDS and I'm going to die, and it's going to be soon. Joking with Mark on the way here seems like a very long time ago. The doctor lets me go a few minutes later. I shell out my money to the receptionist and head back to Mark.

He doesn't say anything. In his quiet Mark way of just knowing what's happening he simply falls into step beside me and waits for me to talk. When we'renearly home and I haven't said a word he gives up.

"What happened? What did they say? You were in there for so long."

I shake my head. "I'm dying."

"Well, but… you're okay, right? I mean. You're still…"

I stop in my tracks and glare down at him.

"Oh grow up, Mark. I'm fucking dying. If I get one more cold, one more little attack on my immune system, I'm gonna die. Okay? Do you get it this time?"

I turn to continue walking and he grabs my arm and pulls me back.

"No! It's not okay, Roger. Look at me! How bad is it?"

"I just fucking told you, let go of me."

"Roger…"

"Let go!" I pull my arm away and the force makes him stumble a step back. I shove my hands in my pockets and head back to the loft.

"Roger don't be like this, please." He begs me, catching up.

I stop again. "Like what? How do you want me to act? Do you want me to be happy?"

"Don't shut me out. Don't shut Mimi out either. Just talk to us, okay?"

"Leave me alone."

He grabs my arm again. "You grow up! Do you hear yourself? This is all you are, Roger. You get disappointed, you get some bad news and then you shut out the fucking world! Are you going to spend the rest of your life moping around?"

"The little I have left is mine, Mark. I'll do whatever I want."

"Why can't you just be happy? Why can't you see the good in your situation? Why can't you ever just realize that…"

"What good?" I scream at him. People on the street are staring at us. "What fucking good is there in dying from AIDS?"

"You could have died so long ago, Roger. And you're wasting this extra time that you've acquired. You can't sit around the loft until the day you die."

"I tried, okay? I tried to get back into…"

"One audition and you gave up! Don't you remember how many bands you tried to join before you found the Hungarians?"

"Maybe I should have given up a long time ago. If I was any good it wouldn't take that much to get noticed." I mumble.

"You're being ridiculous." He says.

When we fight, we have an odd way of having two or three separate fights all at once. Most of the time, neither one of us knows what the other is yelling about and it takes a lot of time for us to think back on the argument and understand what was going on and why we were both being stupid.

I continue on towards the loft and he is silent until we're home. He comments about how he wants to see me happy in my time left and I blow upand completely lose my temper. The temper I'd been doing so well repressing these past few months explodes upon Mark and I have no control left over our argument.


	8. I Should Tell You

**Author's Note: **This is the end of this story. It's also in **Mark's POV**. Trust me, it just works better than way. Thank you for reading this and sticking with me throughout. I like the way this ends. I hope you like it as well and thank you again so much.

I posted this much earlier today and realized right away it wasn't showing up. I hope reposting it will correct the problem, I have no idea why it wasn't working. It was uploaded to the site and showed the story as having 8 chapters in its stats. I hope you can read it now.

* * *

**Trusting Desire  
Epilogue** –_I Should Tell You_  
**_Mark's POV_**

I trudge along in the snow, the cold air biting into my face as I squint behind my glasses and look for any sign of Roger. He didn't take anything with him, so I know he eventually intended on coming back, but it's too cold for him to be out here when he's this sick and I'm not done with him anyway.

It feels far too long that I've been out here, freezing and blind from the snow. I curse the weather, realizing that the longer I'm out, the worse it gets. Though at this point I'm too numb to really feel anything. The streets are reasonably empty for midday in New York. Then I remember that this is pretty illogical weather to be out in.

Finally, huddled in front of a building, his jacket pulled tight around him and a layer of snow in his hair, I see Roger. I roll my eyes and hurry over, pulling him up and brushing him off. He groans and shoves me away.

"Fuck off, Mark."

"Roger, stop it." I growl back, taking my coat off and putting it over his shoulders. "I don't care if you're mad, I don't care if you want to fight more, but you have to come back home. You're freezing."

He watches me, his face softening. "Your coat…"

"I'm fine. Just, come on. Ok? Come on." I pull him with me, putting an arm around him and trying to transfer any body heat I have onto him.

"Put your hands in your pockets." I command, wrapping my scarf around his neck. "They're turning blue."

He shrugs and relents, obeying me and letting me rub my hands over his arms, trying to warm him. I can feel him shivering under my touch. Such a fucking idiot, running out into the stupid snow when he knows that getting sick could kill him.

"What the fuck, Roger?" I breathe, the words fading into the air in front of me.

He frowns and doesn't respond, shivering. I sigh and pull him closer, just as cold as he is. We walk in silence for a long time and then he stops suddenly, making me stumble.

"Mark I have to uh," he bites his lip and looks away. "I have to tell you something."

"Can you tell me later, Rog? It's too cold for this. We need to go." I try to push him to start walking again.

"I should just, I mean, I should tell you that…"

"Roger, I know. Okay? I know. Come on."

"No!" He shouts and shrugs awkwardly. "I know you know. I fucking know. But I just, I need to. I should say that…"

"Just forget it." I'm pulling him now, trying to make him budge from his firm stance. He shoves me off and closes his eyes for a moment, sighing through his blue-tinged lips.

"I'm sorry." He mumbles, looking over at me from behind a wet curtain of hair.

"I know." I sigh, moving in close again and throwing my arm back around him. "I'm sorry too. I really shouldn't have said…"

"No, I shouldn't have." He interrupts.

"Well, we both shouldn't have, but we did. It happens." I reassure him. He starts moving with me again and we continue our walk back to the loft in silence.

* * *

"Go to the bathroom, Rog. Get some towels and dry your hair, okay? I'll find you some dry clothes."

"Where's my girl?" He croaks, his voice getting hoarse now. "Where's Mimi?"

"I'll wake her up. I told her to stay here and keep warm. Just go, okay?"

He obeys me finally, shrugging off our soaked jackets and heading into the bathroom. I slowly open the door to their room and dig through Roger's pile of clothes.

"Did you find him?" Mimi asks softly from the bed.

"Yeah. I think he'll be okay," I reassure her as much as myself. "We just need to get him warmed up."

"I'll go…" She offers, starting to move.

"No, no." I say, grabbing a sweater and heading over to push her back down. "It's too cold in here. Stay in bed so it will be warm for him, okay? He's asking for you but I'll bring him here."

She smiles at me. "You're too good to us, Mark."

I roll my eyes. "I know, believe me."

I head into the bathroom, shoving the clothes at Roger who is feebly rubbing an old towel over his hair. Frowning, I reach over.

"Let me…"

"I'm fine, Mark." He mutters and I leave him alone. I close the door and wait until he has dressed himself before dragging him back into the room to Mimi. As soon as he slides into the bed, she wraps her arms around his neck and nuzzles him affectionately. He snakes an arm around her waist and pulls her close.

"I missed my girl." He says against her hair, closing his eyes and letting out a sigh.

"I missed you too, you big dumbass." She whispers back.

I feel awkward standing there, like I'm intruding on a moment that should only be theirs. I back away slowly and head out into the main room of the loft to find more things to pile on them for warmth. On the way I start heating some water for tea and pick up the blanket from the couch, an old one I find stashed in the bottom of my clothing pile and an old jacket of mine. I'm shivering too though and realize that I should change since I walked home without a jacket on. I rub my hair with the towel Roger used and then opt for some dry pants and a heavier sweater. Smiling to myself I pick up the blankets I found and my camera and juggle them with the two cups of tea back into the room.

Roger's eyes are still closed and he's smiling slightly, holding Mimi close. She's nestled her head on his shoulder, her arms tight around him beneath the blankets. I add the two blankets I brought to their nest and Mimi lets go of Roger to take one of the cups of tea. He opens his eyes and looks up at me, reaching out to take the other. I smile back and pick up my camera. I don't narrate anything, just them grinning at each other and me and nestling close together. When I start to back out of the room Roger gives me a look.

"Don't be stupid, Mark. We have all the blankets. You'll freeze out there."

I stare at him until he jerks his head toward the bed.

"It's too small." I tell him.

"No it's not. We'll make room." Says Mimi, who moves over a few inches, bringing Roger with her.

"Come on you loser. It's cold." Roger grins wearily at me. "We won't do anything kinky while you're here. Promise."

I set my camera down and hesitantly move over to the edge of the bed before pulling back the blankets and sliding in next to Roger. He puts an arm around me and pulls me into the pocket of warmth they've created in the cold loft.

"Thank you for bringing my stupid boyfriend back." Mimi giggles.

"I'm sure I'll regret it later." I tease, which earns me an offended snort from Roger.

Mimi offers me some of her tea and I accept it, taking a couple sips before handing it back. Roger gives an inadvertent shiver and we both crowd in closer to him. He smiles sadly,holding Mimitighter and to my surprise, resting his head against mine.

"Ok." He says softly. "I'm going to say some stuff, okay? And it might take me uh, well it might take a few tries. But I need to say it, okay?"

"Sure, baby." Mimi smiles and I nod.

He sighs. "I'm know I'm a jerk. And like, well… I know I can be really stupid."

"I hear that." I mutter and he elbows me.

"Shut up, Mark. I'm serious." He groans and I stop.

"But, well, I just, I want you to know that I really am happy with both of you. Like, Mimi? I love you more than anything. And I think you're so beautiful and, well, if it wasn't for you I probably wouldn't have cared enough to stay alive this long, you know?" She cuddles close to him and kisses his neck in response.

He swallows. "Okay. Well. I, uh. I already told you I was you know, sorry, Mark. And I am. And I'm really glad I have you too, man. Cause if it wasn't for you I would have died even longer ago. I know that I treat you like shit all the time, but I'm really glad you're my friend. My best friend."

He sighs and I know he's frowning. "I love you, man." He mutters under his breath, barely forming the words.

"I love you too, Rog." I say just as quietly.

"You know, like… as my best friend, like my brother you know? And…"

"I know, Rog."

"Okay." He finally starts to breath at a regular volume again. "I know you want me to do something with the time I have left, but I guess I just," I feel him shrug. "I just want to be with my friends. I don't really want to do anything else."

Mimi lays a hand on his cheek to turn his face towards hers and kisses his mouth gently.

"I love you, fatso." She giggles against his lips.

"Love you too." He grins back. "You really need to shower though, because you smell."

And I just smile, wanting badly to be recording this, especially Roger's little monologue, considering that it's the most emotion I've heard out of him in years, but knowing insidethat some moments are better left as just memories.


End file.
